


Won't Weigh You Down

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Highschool AU, Multi, liam fic, personal training AU, sexytimes in the near future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bianca Davis just wanted to lose 20 pounds, she was never looking for love.<br/>Or, the one where Liam is a personal trainer and clients have a hard time not falling in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Weigh You Down

**Author's Note:**

> First fic on AO3! I will take constrictive criticism.  
> **There will be some very strong language*

According to every book I’ve read, and every movie I watched, I should be getting smashed and hooking up with all the boys right about now. Instead, I'm in the lobby of my local gym, waiting to meet the person who will help me lose twenty pounds. It's not like I'm horribly overweight or anything, either, it's just that I'd like to be able to wear tight shirts and ever tighter dresses without feeling so self-conscious. And if it's also to see the look of shock on my ex's face, no one has to know.

I've been standing and fidgeting for an awkward five minutes before someone comes to my rescue.

“Hey there, are you waiting for anyone?”an older women, probably in her mid-forty's, asks, and I nod.

“I have a consultation with Liam Payne?” It comes out like a question, and I mentally kick myself. “My name's Bianca Davis,” I tack on.

“Oh, yes. He's on his lunch break, but it ends shortly. Please, take a seat.” She gestures to a table and I grin my thanks, before sitting down and opening my purse. I take out my phone, and play Candy Crush while I wait.

Three frustrating rounds later, the bell above the door rings, and I instinctively jolt my head up to look.

The man standing no more than 10 feet away from me has to be some sort of God. He locks eyes with me and I blush stupidly as I jolt my head away again. I hear quiet footsteps before there's something blocking my light. I look up, and have to force myself to not check him out again.

“Bianca?” The God-Man asks, and I nod, standing up. I instantly regret it, when I realize he's an entire foot taller than me. He sticks his hand out, and I shake it, trying not to take note of how warm and soft, yet calloused his hands are.

I swear to god I'm not usually this creepy.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Liam, and after today, I'll probably be your personal trainer.” He winks, and I try not to melt. Why does he have to be s good looking?

“I don't doubt that,” I manage to get out, “I'm really hoping that the pricing isn't too expensive though.”

“It all depends on the package you want,” he says, “Want to go to my office? We'll talk about your goals and plans, and then we can give you accurate measurements so we know what we're working with.”

I nod, following him to the small room, standing awkwardly before he gestures for me to take a seat. He grabs a clipboard and sits beside me. “So, what are your goals?” He asks, and I have to snap my eyes away from his bulging biceps.

“I'd like to lose twenty pounds, and get nice and toned,” I say, “and it wouldn't hurt to be able to run for longer than 3 minutes without getting winded.”

Liam laughs, “It may hurt at first, but you look like a tough girl,” he winks and I flush firetruck red, “so, weight loss, toning, endurance. You probably know that it's eighty percent nutrition and twenty percent working out, so I'm going to ask, what is your eating like? On both weekdays and weekends.”

I think for a minute before answering, “Today, for breakfast I had an egg, some almonds, and an avocado. Lunch was left over chili, and dinner was lemon chicken with sweet potato and corn. I snacked on some peppers and more almonds at around three. I try to eat every three hours to keep my metabolism up. Nine is breakfast, noon is lunch, three pm is snack, and 6pm is dinner.”

Liam nods his head “You eat really well on weekdays, especially for the summer, what about weekends?”

I blush, “On Saturday I had pancakes with peanut butter and a glass of milk for breakfast, an apple and some berries for lunch, and steak, mashed potatoes and mixed frozen veggies for dinner.”

“That's still pretty good, for a weekend. Were the pancakes homemade or from a box?”

“Box,” I say, “Should I start making them from scratch?”

Liam nods, “You can find great banana pancake recipes online that are much healthier, and add more flavor with your peanut butter.”

I smile, “thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now what are your plans for coming to the gym? We recommend three times a week, but you can choose from the personal training packages how often I would be there.”

I could be with this God-Man three times a week? Uh, where do I sign?

“I was planning to come every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” I lie instead, knowing that I'll be coming everyday.

“That's good, mornings, afternoons or evenings?” Liam asks.

“Mornings for the rest of this month, since it's summer,” I answer, “but when school starts up again it's going to have to be evenings.”

“Oh yes, school,” he says, “I remember when I was in University, the course load was awful.”

I blush, (I'm gong to be permanently red by the time I leave here, it's ridiculous) “I'm actually just going into my senior year,” I correct him, and his eyes widen.

“How old are you?” He asks, and I'm tempted to lie.

“17,” I say honestly. (It's not like I have a chance anyway)

“No way,” he shakes his head. “You look nineteen.”

I shake my head as well, “No way, I'm so short I still look twelve.”

He scoffs. “Mhm, and I'm Micheal Jordan.”

There''s a moment of silence before he speaks again.

“Alright, let's get you weighed and measured. Would you prefer a female to, or am I okay?”

I answer almost embarrassingly fast. “You're okay.”

He smirks, as if he knows how gorgeous he is, (which he really should, I mean, wow.) and gets up, motioning for me to go with him.

We go to a smaller room, and he pulls a gown out from a desk in the corner.

“I'll step outside while you put this on,” he says, “It's so that your clothes don't weigh you down. Don't worry, it ties so nothing is left open.”

I nod, and he steps out of the room. I blush the entire time I'm putting it on, and get increasingly more self-conscious. He knocks on the door and I say it's okay to come in, although I feel like my hearts going to burst out of my chest.

He enters and makes a point of not looking anywhere but my face, somehow sensing how self-conscious I am. I smile gratefully.

“Okay,” he says, “I'm going to get you to stand against that wall,” he points to the one with something that looks like it will measure my height, “and we'll get your height first.”

I walk to the wall and stand straight, making sure I'm completely pressed against it. He follows, and adjusts it so that the triangle part is resting on my head.

“5 foot four,” he informs me, and writes it down. I step away from the wall and onto the scale, figuring that’s where he wanted me.

Jesus, that sounded way more sexual than I wanted it to.

I refuse to look down, but it's ruined when he speaks, “145,” he frowns and I feel like crying. He must have sensed the dismay on my face, and is quick to continue speaking. “You look like you weigh less. Anyway, it's a perfectly healthy weight. You have a BMI of 23”

I nod, and step off the scale.

“Okay, what measurement points do you want to keep track of?”

“Hips and waist,” I answer.

He hums, “Okay, so I'm just going to wrap this around your hips and waist—don't worry, the gown is staying on— and we'll get our measurements.” He does as he says, and writes them down without telling me, probably guessing that it was a sensitive topic. I'm thankful.

“So, with all your measurements, you only have to lose a few more inches around your waist to get the hourglass figure, if that's what you're aiming for, and you'll also be glad to hear that you are no where near overweight. Losing twenty pounds will put you still in the healthy weight mark, but more towards underweight. However, don't beat yourself up if you only lose ten or so, you're going to be gaining muscle and that weighs more than fat.”

“That's so relieving to hear,” I say honestly.

Liam grins at me. “I'm glad. Now, if we go back to my office, we can look and personal training plans for you.”

I leave an hour later with a personal trainer, and another reason to lose weight.

 

The minute I get home I'm quizzed by my mother. I know that she doesn't agree with this whole ordeal, but she could at least hide it a bit better.

“What are the prices? Who's your personal trainer? Did you change your mind?”

I sigh dramatically as I toe off my shoes. “200 for a month, three days a week. A boy named Liam. And no, I did not change my mind.”

She walks (more like storms) over, “A boy?! What if he tries to touch you inappropriately?”

I would be the luckiest girl in the world, I think, but instead I say “It's a gym, with other employees and people working out, it’ll be fine.”

“What if you get hurt? Does he know emergency procedures?”

“He went to University for this Mom, I'm pretty sure he knows everything he needs to.”

“You don't even need to lose weight.”

“I want to though, to be healthy and happy.”

She sighs, and I pout at her.

“Fine, but if I see any indication you're stressing too much over this, you're going to stop, got it?”

“Yes mom,” I agree to satisfy her, and she smiles.

“Thank you,” she leans forward to kiss me on the forehead, “Now you may retreat to your room,” she jokes, and I smile at her, before making my way up to my room.

I basically fling myself onto my bed the same minute I feel my butt buzz. Confused, I go to check the pockets, remembering as I brush up against it that I shoved my phone into my back pocket after texting Cora about Liam.

I fish my phone out of my pocket, laughing when I see her reply

**U need to do the sex with him!! how old is he? Snap a pic next time! Btw, u free tomorrow? Going to Under 21 wth evry1 and thoght you should come. Unlimited refills.**

My reply is almost instant

**Hell yes! You know I love the music they play there. And of course I will! ….Snap a pic that is, not do the sex. He's like 21 or something, it's barley even legal.**

She texts back half an hour later, when I'm scrolling through my blog. I grab for my phone, but knock my glass of Diet Doctor Pepper over instead.

“Fucking shit fuck cunt,” I whisper-yell, grabbing way too much Kleenex from my nightstand to mop it up with. I use water from an old water bottle to try and get rid of what will be a sticky mess.

Thankfully, the glass didn't break from the fall, so I just pick it up and put it on my nightstand. It's when I'm attempting to push myself back up onto my bed, (I had just stretched out to clean it up) I notice something that must had fluttered out of my pocket. A note.

_I forgot to give you a gym bag and water bottle :( I'm sorry, show this note to the receptionist and she'll get you them._

_-Liam_

I grin. Of course he would be the kind of guy to be sexy, kind, and have a good job. I wonder what his fatal flaw is. 

I hoist myself back up onto my bed, and crawl under my sheets, leaning to bring my laptop up and into my lap. I browse for a bit more, before deciding to go to sleep, wanting to get up early and go to the gym tomorrow. 

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


 


End file.
